


faulty business

by nyctigamous



Category: Dangerous Fellows (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, also known as: the pining is strong with this one, kids play spin the bottle and what could go wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 08:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyctigamous/pseuds/nyctigamous
Summary: Make it count.Once the bottle is spun, the realisation that this, in fact, is aterribleidea, dawns faster than one could opt out of the whole mess. And by then, it's faulty business.





	faulty business

“Are you kidding me? No way.”

She laughs as she says so, nervous bubble bursting from her throat; her hand reaching, instinctively, for the material of her sleeve. Zion scowls as she grasps it, and she knows, immediately, that getting out of this will be a hard task.

“Come on, don’t be a pissbaby. Join us.” He leans back as he says so, a grin plastered on his face, and for a moment, the boy reminds her of a smug, lazy cat, lounging on the dining table,  _ knowing _ he is not supposed to be there.

It irks the shit out of her.

“Count me out. You have enough people as is.” She bites, turning to leave, ignoring the protests she hears from the other survivors. She almost snaps her neck, however, when she hears Zion click his tongue - at  _ her. _

“Right. Well, whatever, we’ll do just fine without you, now that we know you’re too chicken to join us.” He calls to her, sitting down amongst their friends on the floor, Harry and Hailey shuffling aside to make space for him.

The girl doesn’t register when she’s two feet apart from the crimson-haired boy again; only that in a flash, she is, and her temper is, as usual, getting the best of her.

Damn her temperamental nature.

“Excuse me?” She demands, chin raised with a flush of defiance, posture holding far too much attitude than she supposes she can handle. He did, however, just insult her - and that’s not something she’ll let go by lightly.

And she’s not a violent person - by any means - but the lazy, cocky side-eye he gives her, makes her knuckles itch.

“You heard me. Little Junie’s too chicken to come play the bottle with us.” He toys with the collar of his jacket, and she doesn’t miss the way Harry hides his face. “Have you never kissed anyone before? Are you too shy for us, Junie?” He drawls, again, in his feline manner, and she wonders if the knuckles of her fists are whitening yet.

“Screw you.” June throws at him, pushing Harry aside and settling down onto the floor. She ignores Eugene’s gleeful appraisal, and, begrudgingly, looks around the circle of her friends: Scarlet has gifted them a candid ‘fuck off’ earlier, Lawrence refused with a stack of supplies to sort, and Sue didn’t bother entertaining them, but she is, quite honestly, surprised to see Judy, Hailey, and Ethan still present in this godforsaken endeavor.

Judy looks giddy, Hailey, as always, shy. Ethan looks like a cornered animal and like he’d jump out of the room immediately, if it weren’t for Eugene’s lithe hand holding him down by the sleeve of his jacket - almost like you’d hold a dog’s leash, keeping it in place.

June and Ethan share glances of discomfort, and she sighs when he squirms, ever so subtly, in his place. Seems like she isn’t the only forced into this mess.

“So who starts?” Judy asks Zion, settling more comfortably on the floor, while Harry passes him an empty water bottle.

“I’ll spin the bottle, and whoever it lands on, begins.” Zion says as he settles the bottle in the middle of the circle.

And with a flick of a wrist, it spins. 

..Only to land, ever-so- _ annoyingly _ , at the  _ very _ edge between her knee, and Harry’s. She supposes, with an ounce of dread creeping up her throat, that she might slide by this - it’s clearly turned more to Harry than to her, right?

“That’s Harry.” She proclaims, mentally cringing at the dash of desperation clearly painted over voice. The hairs stand on the nape of her neck when Zion clicks his tongue again.

“Hm, no, that’s all you, sweetheart.” He says, resting his chin on his hand, so very clearly enjoying the taunt in his own voice, and she swears that she will, in fact, beat the shit out of him after this is done.

“I can--” Harry starts, by the will of his kind heart trying to assist her, but the redhead promptly cuts him off, irises sparking with tangible challenge at the girl.

“No, you can’t, loverboy. This is June’s turn.”

She stares back at him, lips pressing together. She can tell, this is a game of cat and mouse - and she’ll be damned if she’ll step into a trap headfirst.

Well.

Beggars can’t be choosers, right?

The girl bites back the sigh that threatens to leave her - and swiftly reaches for the damned bottle. She takes a moment - just a split second - to wonder, privately, who she’d want it to land on, and when her thoughts slip, with an inflow of sheer embarrassment crushing into her, so does her hand, sinking the bottle into motion. 

There’s a curt moment of her and Ethan’s eyes meeting again, her embarrassment spreading in heat across her neck, and when she drops them to look down at the bottle - now stopped - her whole demeanor drops, sinking to the bottom of her heart.

When her eyes follow the bottle, she swears she can see Ethan pale even more than he was before. Trust the divine powers to force the most unwilling participant’s into this mess. Or entropy, or Murphy’s law, or whatever the fuck it is that let this happen.

She curses, softly, quietly enough for only herself to hear, as the heat from her throat starts travelling upwards -  _ and _ downwards, wrapping itself tightly around her heart, pushing it to beat harder against her chest. 

June stands, silently, somehow, for some reason, legs barely giving to her thought of moving, tightness folding itself onto her stomach, and, to her dread, and to her horror - she realises that she is  _ shy. _

She’d kissed before - of course she had. And she wouldn’t have problems with a light peck with anybody in the room, even if it  _ was _ Zion, the irritating brat. It doesn’t mean anything - it really is just a game.

But this is  _ Ethan _ . Ethan, the boy who’d teach her how to swing a bat, who’d whisper in her ear that everything’s going to be okay, who’d laugh, lightly, in the private of her company.

She wonders, briefly, whatever the hell these thoughts mean - and they’re swallowed, instantly, when she sees crimson bloom on his cheeks, a sharp contrast to the bright emerald in his eyes.

She steps closer, but doesn’t miss the hitch in her throat when he looks back up at her. His does, too, when she makes her last step, and she wonders if anybody besides them has noticed.

She thinks not.

Her fingers curl into the collar of his jacket, and it gives in without an ounce of resistance to her.

She  _ hopes  _ not.

And that same hope, oh how it burns down her throat when she finds herself giving up; leaning towards him, slowly, pressing her lips to the heated skin of his painted cheek. She’s breaking a rule - she knows this - but her heart’s giving its last life out of her ribcage, and just as much, her knees are about to buckle under her weight. He doesn’t flinch or move away from the contact, heated skin almost intoxicating in its proximity, and there’s a small, devious part of her, that against her own wishes, wonders if he would, if she were to kiss him again.

“Oh, no.” Her skin prickles when she hears Zion chime, and she knows - dreads - what is about to come. “No, no, no. Bending the rules? Not on my watch.” She watches him pick up the bottle, lightly tap it against his chin. “Fix your misdoings, Junie.”

“Make it count.” Snickers Eugene, clearly enjoying the suffering of his fellows, and she does consider, really, telling them to screw off, marching off out of the room, but the red she sees at the sly grins of her friends, taunting her to lose and to back out, halts her and roots her in place.

There is anger, she thinks, staring back at Zion’s challenging eyes, flashing with taunting; and then there is defiance, she realises, as she looks back at Ethan and meets his gaze, hand moving from his collar to his neck, settling on the flushed skin, molding to it like it belongs there. He doesn’t meet her there - not in refusal, not in defiance, but he doesn’t back away either, gaze unwavering. There is a moment, cut in pieces, and painfully short, when she forgets about the damn game - and, she thinks, staring into the haze on his irises, he may have, too.

_ Make it count. _

When she leans in, she feels a pull: a resonance, deep and urging, reverberating through her bones in the form of scarlet fury and spite; and she delves deep into it when she presses her lips to his, relying on it for courage, depending on it to get her through this. It pushes back, however, as it melts in a moment’s notice; the same moment when she feels Ethan respond to her, leaning in, lips parting, just ever so slightly, for her, the moment she feels his warm exhale on her skin, his subtle scent filling her senses, his proximity enveloping her, as her knees near-buckle beneath her; as she plunges, deep down, into a blooming in her chest, the feeling overtaking her every nerve.

It is a moment, so swift it almost hurts, and the one following it is when she pulls away, gaze locked onto his; it is then, that she feels it - something, somewhere, clicking, softly, into motion.

Her hand feels cold when it leaves his skin.

She finds, soon, after stepping away just one step, that her whole self feels cold, too.

Someone’s cheering. She can’t distinguish, who.

And for the rest of the night, as short as it is after their show, she can’t stop her gaze from gravitating towards him, magnetised by his pull; the bond cracking, gently, beneath her skin every time their eyes meet.

**Author's Note:**

> Blame Lea from the dfel discord server. Thank you for reading!!


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